


Big Brother's Analyzation

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, johnlock analyzation, mycroft being a prat, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade nags Mycroft to eat, sleep, and let him take work off for them to spend time together. They end up discussing Sherlock and John's fragile relationship, which Mycroft goes to great lengths to describe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Brother's Analyzation

**Author's Note:**

> She requested a Mystrade fic, but I threw in Johnlock for obvious reasons.

"Certainly not," Mycroft Holmes spat, his regal form sitting stiffly in his chair.

Greg Lestrade stared at him with incredulous eyes from his standing position in front of him, hands on his hips to keep them from flailing about wildly.

"We don't have any time together any more."

Mycroft flinched. He was still new to the concept of 'us' when it came to him and Greg, and although his possessive and protective sides came out whenever Sherlock and John were around, he was usually impassive and cold when there was no need for extra sentiment. It was only a chemical defect found in the losing side, after all.  
Mycroft eyed his boyfriend with skepticism, "We have plenty of time together."

Lestrade's dark eyes were wide, his silver hair receiving his hands as they flew from his hips and entangled themselves in it. He growled.

"No, we don't. I'm always on a case or in the office, either personally dealing with your brother and his boyfriend or worrying about them. Can you tell them, or at least the one who'll listen, that I'm going to take a week off from work and that I won't have any cases for them? Mycroft, please let me take some time off. I miss you."

Mycroft shifted in his seat, his suit rustling against the expensive leather.

"I will tell them no such thing because you are not taking any time off."

"Bloody hell, Mycroft." Lestrade sighed loudly as he fell into an adjacent chair.

He was silent for a few seconds as he rubbed his temples before he took a calming breath and began to speak, Mycroft's stern countenance watching him.

"You barely eat, you never sleep - you're like your brother that way. I've put up with him for years and now I have to deal with you." Lestrade paused, his words tumbling out of him slowly, "You don't seem happy about this thing we've got going here."

Mycroft's stomach jumped. Of course he was happy. He was ecstatic to have this wonderful man who sat before him in his life. He woke up every morning smiling stupidly to himself at the thought that he had finally caught a goldfish. A silver goldfish.

He tightened his lips into a flat line, "Of course I am."

"But you don't want to be out about it,"

"It's not logical."

"I know it took nearly two years for your brother and John to finally - "

"Sherlock doesn't fancy John," Mycroft interrupted. The thought of his baby brother falling for someone so stupidly was human error, and the fact that John wasn't as wholeheartedly devoted as Sherlock was was too difficult to admit, let alone admit to Sherlock.

"Right," Lestrade said sarcastically. "Will you at least let me take three days off?"

Mycroft sighed in defeat, it was Lestrade's eyes that always got him. They were dark but sharp, fine and intelligent. Now they pleaded at him.

Lestrade smiled as he wiped his hands on his pants. "Good," he tried to sound less than ecstatic.

"But you'll have to text my brother and tell him you'll be off for a while."

"Sure."

The men locked their gaze, silence seeping between them like a flood from a broken dam.

Lestrade spoke, "When was the last time you ate, anyway?"

Mycroft hummed and looked impassively down at his expensive wristwatch, "What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Friday night then."

"Jesus, Mycroft." Lestrade stood up from his chair and hurried through the large house and into the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding half a birthday cake. It was cold from being in the refrigerator, its pink frosting stiff with preserved sweetness.

"Where did you get that?" Mycroft was suddenly most aware of his bulging tummy, which had formed as he grew older, despite his attempts at exercise.

"It was Donovan's birthday yesterday, so I brought her a cake. It was my turn to. Apparently she didn't want the rest so I took it and brought here on my way. I want you to have some."

"I don't eat sweets," Mycroft snarled.

"Bullshit, I've seen you sneak out of your room at night for cookies."

Mycroft furrowed his brows and tore Greg to pieces with his eyes.

"Give it to me," Lestrade handed the cake over to Mycroft as he stood from the chair. He brought it over to the desk and unwrapped the saran.

The pink frosting was slightly moist as it melted in the warm room, the plastic slipping off easily. "Go get some plates and forks and a knife," Mycroft asked of Greg. Lestrade smiled after turning his back. He was getting Mycroft something to eat. Maybe this relationship would work. When he returned, Mycroft had cleared his desk and set the cake square in the center. He was meticulously inching it forwards and backwards, obsessively checking to see if it was center.

Lestrade set the plates down straight and equal to each other on opposite sides of the desk, the forks aligned nicely as well.

Mycroft noticed this and looked up, a tiny smile gracing his round face.

Greg wanted to pull his chair up to the desk, but Mycroft hated to move his furniture. Lestrade made a plaintive sound at this dilemma and was responded to with, "It's fine, we can put it back."

Mycroft dragged the chair adjacent his in front of the large, wooden desk.

He sliced up a piece excitedly and served it to Lestrade as he sat down. He served to himself second.

He settled his bum in his chair and watched as Greg did the same.

"Cheers," he said, dipping his fork into the spongy yellow cake.

"Cheers."

The men ate and chatted carefully, mostly about Sherlock and John.

"You really don't think Sherlock and John are shagging?" Lestrade asked, nearly drunk off the sight of Mycroft eating with a grin, his cheeks tight.  
His grin faltered and a flash of something dark appeared and disappeared quickly in Mycroft's eyes, but he brushed it away and spoke lightly.  
"I don't think so, no. Not yet, anyway."

"Do you think they're meant for each other, John and your brother?"

Lestrade wouldn't let it go. Mycroft would have to dive as deep as Greg wanted him to go in order to leave the subject alone.  
With two small bites left on his plate, Mycroft cleared his throat to speak.

"I think John Watson is a troubled man who was very alone when he returned from the war. I think if there's anyone to put up with the stubborn chill of my brother, it's John. John's equal to him in that sense, they can both be pricks. Sherlock's work requires him to stay unattached from people, especially romantically. He would fear that something that had shown up in a case would happen to John or me or you, if he was as warm as we all wish he was. Love and compassion aren't advantages in the world of science and logic, and it's a touchy subject for us - Sherlock - because the people he attaches himself to will leave. I think you can agree that John will eventually tire of Sherlock's arsehole nature, yes? Well, once he does, he'll seek adventure in someone else. Probably a woman. It would crush Sherlock but he'd be forced to stay devoted to him out of love, even to the extent of putting himself second to John and his wife. If what you say is true, that John is meant for Sherlock, that means that today may nearly be too late for them to confess and accept that they're just playing a dance. The way they look at each other, of course I see it, we all do, but Sherlock has promised himself to never get attached. Same with John. He'd watched all of his friends die in battle and I'm sure he still has trust issues. That's what he told me, that his therapist says he has trust issues. He started a blog in hopes to move on in life, but what if Sherlock goes too far in a case? What if he had taken that pill from the first night he and John moved in? John would be just as hurt. To answer your question simply, Greg, I think that John and Sherlock are meant for each other completely. They are the only ones to get the other to open up and trust again, but with that trust and friendship comes utter devotion and ultimately, love, and once that love is gone, they'll just be broken shells, cursed to wander around hopelessly as a third wheel while the other has children and grows old with their wife. Sherlock won't love anyone besides John, Greg. Sherlock isn't gay and he isn't straight, he's only for John. John could be a talking cactus and he'd feel the same - he could be a silly, stupid goldfish and Sherlock would still love him. That's why I force myself not to think about their relationship, and even go to the extent of telling Sherlock what I've just told you now - he'll only end up getting hurt. Caring isn't an advantage, love is a disadvantage, and sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. Now that Sherlock's in love with John, there's really nothing to do except hope that they figure it out. And if, by some miracle, John decides he won't love anyone else, woman or man, besides Sherlock, what then? Do they marry? Do they stay partners? Do they continue running around solving murders? It's too horrible a situation to find love in, and frankly, I'm quite surprised they did. They're meant for each other, of course, but they're toxic if not anything else."

Mycroft resumed eating his cake placidly.

"Fuck," Lestrade swore.


End file.
